Conversion Therapy

in Spain I eat holy midnight supper sleep morning away even though at home I crowed heathenish before dawn & tucked in at nine, I mean who knew my rise & shine would dissolve in foreign lands–even when it’s chill and rainy in Girona, when my rickety umbrella is unsatisfactory & every street in town is a staircase to stony perdition I don’t care, I catapult all night from one winding cathedral path to another accompanied by bells–yes bells & drums & liturgical nonsense of golden mittens & ruby mitres, if this is religion I cannot get enough–just fill my vacancies with pomp and bishops, let me dine on lamb and relish every crucifix.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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